


Pieces of My Heart

by s4ffy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Minor Octavia Blake, Minor Raven Reyes, So much angst, minor monty green, this is basically gross tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s4ffy/pseuds/s4ffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke returns from the CoL to absolute carnage. Alie’s chipped soldiers tried everything to stop them from taking down the City of Light, and there are casualties to prove it. One of those casualties turns out to be the person Clarke knows she can’t live without.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> um. sorry i guess??

It had all fallen to pieces the moment she entered the City of Light. Alie’s chipped soldiers, desperate to stall their attacks on the City of Light attacked mercilessly, unstoppably. Fighting off loved ones who are trying to kill you whilst simultaneously trying not to kill them back is difficult to say the least, and the injuries and casualties are proof. But, Clarke woke up and Alie was gone and it was going to be okay – except, Bellamy wasn’t anywhere in sight. The one person she was desperate to see, the one person who she needed, and he’s not there.

The fear and panic is mounting now, and she shoves past the few stragglers, desperate to find him. She runs headlong into Miller, who grabs her arms and steadies her.

“Have you seen him? I need to find him!” he demands in a hurry, and she knows instinctively who he’s talking about. She sees his face. It’s pale, drained of blood and petrified, and her heart sinks.

“You haven’t seen him?” she gasps. Her knees tremble and she can’t breathe. “Miller, what happened?” she demands, her voice on the edge of hysteria.

“He… They… His chest… and then they took him… I tried to stop them but…” There are tears shining in his eyes and that’s how Clarke knows it’s really bad, because Miller – crying? He stumbles away from her. “I have to find him.” He mutters, and it’s his distracted grief that freezes the blood in her veins. Miller, so aloof and smug, now fearful and in shock.

Clarke takes off without looking back, her terror now a tangible thing, her fear constricting her throat. She can’t bear to entertain the thought of Bellamy dying so she darts around the trees thinking only about finding him and resolving to deal with the state he’s in when he’s found.

She’s so unprepared for what she sees when she crests the hill that she stumbles backwards and onto the nearest tree. A ragged gasp leaves his lips and _he’s not dead oh thank God he’s still alive he’s not dead he will be okay he’s going to be fine._

She falls to her knees at his side and grabs his hands gently, pressing her lips to his cold, bloody fingers.

“Shhh, shhhhh,” she soothes, cradling his head. She freezes when he lets out a feeble moan of pain and for the first time she notices _there’s so much blood oh God there’s so much of it._ “You’re going to be okay, it’s going to be okay,” she tells him desperately but even to her own ears it sounds pathetic and worthless.

“Clarke,” he breathes, his voice wet and thick and more than anything, it terrifies her how just one word can sound like a final farewell. A trickle of fresh blood runs from the corner of his mouth. He sounds broken and weak and _that is so not right, Bellamy is thousand things but he’s not broken or weak,_ “I couldn’t – I couldn’t…”

“I know, I know, it’s okay. It’ll be fine, the others are on their way, they’ll be here soon and then we’ll take you to the MedCenter and patch you up right as rain and we’re going to be fine yes? We won Bellamy and it’s over now and –“ she barely knows what she’s saying anymore, just babbling on and she’s so, so petrified she can barely think and he raises a hand to trace her cheekbone and this only makes his wound bleed more and _no this is not happening._

“I love you.” He croaks, attempting to smile, and her chest squeezes because she loves him too. She loves him she loves him she loves him and this was not how it was meant to go. They weren’t meant to admit the depths of their feelings for each other as one lay dying. They were meant to be happy and love each other for years and years and years.

“No.” she tells him forcefully, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. She feels like if he tries to say goodbye, she will shatter and finally break. “Bellamy, no! The others are on their way, just – just hold on, okay? We’ll get you to my Mom, and you will be _fine_ –” It sounds more like a threat than a promise.

“Not this time, Princess, you know it’s true.” His voice is audibly weaker and she wants to admonish him for his use of her hated nickname and finally kiss him and beg him not to leave her _please please don’t leave me_. He coughs, blood bubbling from his mouth and nose, moaning in pain.

“Shhh, stop talking.” Her voice is thick with grief and tears run down her cheeks, splodging onto his bloodied shirt and face and _why hasn’t anyone come yet?_ Her heart is contracting painfully in her chest, already thinking of the years it will have to endure without him.

“I love you. It’s okay. Don’t be sad, okay? You’re going to be amazing.” he says and she can feel the life draining out of him, feel it in the increasing weight of his head, in the feeble twitches of his fingers on her waist, curled in the fabric of her shirt, in the dying light of his once sparkling brown eyes.

“No. You don’t get to do that. Bellamy Blake, don’t you dare,” she’s almost angry, “You don’t get to leave me, it’s not fair, please Bellamy, please! I need you!” There’s snot and tears and blood everywhere and all her clothes are soaked in the life that’s pumping out of the gaping wound in his chest.

“I love you, Clarke. God, I love you.” His eyes flutter shut and he knows he should be saying something else, something more, but he’s hurting everywhere and the only thing that’s anchoring him to reality is her desperate fingers gripping his body in a bid to make him stay. He wants to tell her that he’s sorry; that she was the best thing to happen to him; that she saved him in so many ways; that all he ever wanted was to die by her side, even if he had imagined it being years and years later. But he can’t find the words and his brain is fogging up like condensation on a window in winter, and the only thing that he can think of is that _he loves her so goddamn much._

“No!” she shouts and shakes him ever so gently. “Open your eyes Bellamy, please I love you so much please please don’t leave me you can’t leave me!” She’s trembling now, crying uncontrollably and his eyes meet hers and holds her blue, grieving gaze. Her admission of love tastes more bitter than she thought it would be, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this! It was supposed to be soft and gentle and a promise of good things to come. It wasn’t meant to be a goodbye.

She can see the future they could have had, should have had, reflected in his brown eyes; their victory celebration; their contribution in rebuilding their society; their life by the sea; their relationship growing into the love it was always going to be; three bubbly kids; growing old together; watching their children grow up in a world so much better and safer than theirs. Even as she watches it play out in his eyes, she can see it fading from reality as the light in his eyes dims.

“I love you so much, Clarke Griffin,” he attempts a chuckle but almost chokes on blood. “Clarke Griffin,” he repeats and it’s a blade twisting in her heart. She presses a desperate kiss against his lips, remembering the fairytales of her youth and how true love’s kiss can bring back even the dead and dying. Their first kiss wasn’t meant to happen this way, but she presses her lips to his like she can take away his pain and breathe life back into his dying heart, He meets her eyes as she pulls back. “Clarke.” He forces out, managing to find her hand with his own and squeeze, before his eyes drift shut for the last time.

She gasps for breath, choking on the weight of her pain, on the encompassing ache of hollowness in her chest.

“No no no no no no no,” she blubbers; she pats his face in a deluded, desperate hope that he’ll crack open an eye, then jump up and yell ‘Gotcha!’, cracking up at her emotional display. “Wake up wake up, please don’t do this to me Bellamy. We still have so much to do together.” He lies limp in her arms and with a quiet, keening cry, she buries her face in his neck, but this time, unlike every other, there is no pulse beating against her forehead.

It’s only moments until Octavia crashes through the clearing with Monty on her heels, but both stop short as they take in the broken boy and the breaking girl. Octavia lasts almost two seconds before her knees fold, Monty barely catches her on time and they both sink to the ground, Octavia whining wretchedly and Monty staring blankly at Bellamy’ dead body.

Minutes later, clutching each other for strength, they both rise at the same time but look infinitely older and wearier than they did when they had first entered the room. Monty’s head is bowed as if he carries the weight of all the dead on his shoulders and Octavia is shaking, eyes glassy and distant, like she is reliving each second he spent with Bellamy.

It takes both of them to pry her off Bellamy’s lifeless body.

–

She will forget the fear and the terror. She will forget the way her blood froze in her veins and her heart pounded against her chest, while her stomach tried to turn inside out. She will forget the uncertainty and hopelessness.

She will never forget the weight of his dead body cradled in her arms, or the way his dry, cracked lips tasted of his own death. She will never forget how the warmth seeped from his body into the floor, into the air, into her. She will never forget how long it took to wash away the blood, his blood, which caked her hands. She will never forget the smell of iron and rust that followed her, no matter how many times she bathed in the lake in the following days.

Without him by her side, she’s unbalanced. A shattered half of something once great. What should have been a day for celebrating has become a day of unimaginable loss for them all.

They hold a solemn service for the few that they had lost. Bryan and Murphy and Harper, a few other Arkers who paid the ultimate price for taking the chip. But the most keenly felt absence is Bellamy. They bury them by the Dropship, lay him to rest beside the others that he fought tirelessly to protect and save.

Clarke barely holds it together during the silent burial, only just fully realising the extent of what she lost. More than a partner, more than a best friend, more than a coleader, more than a lover. She has lost a part of herself, her soul’s equal. The person who ignites her bones and breathes life into her heart. The only person who she could rely on without bounds; who’s never betrayed her trust or faith; who’s always, always had her back.

She stays at his grave long after other’s have left. Soon, she’ll have to pick up the pieces of her heart and carry on doing what she does best – fixing things. She’ll have to find Octavia, who hasn’t been seen since the final battle and talk with Luna about what happens next. She’ll have to find a way to prove to the Delinquents that they will still be okay without Bellamy. That together, they can and will move on.

But for now, she stands at Bellamy’s grave, stomach hollow with loss. There’s no markings for his grave, it’s identical to the others in a too-long line of the dead.

He had lived such a full life and there was nothing to show for it. All the times he’d ever laughed and cried and smiled. All the people he’d saved and the lives he took. Most importantly to her, all the times they’d shared. Somewhere along the way, in between enraged arguments and bitter disagreements; in between saving each other again and again, both physically and emotionally dragging each other from the brink of despair, the brink of death; in between the sacrifice, the sharp sting of loss and the pain; in between the fleeting looks exchanged like fireflies in the twilight, she had fallen in love with him and she had left it too late to tell him. 

Someday, in many years to come, people will forget that it is Bellamy who lies here. In one hundred years from now, no one would remember him. Their children may visit these graves and tut in pity, but they would just think he was another of the unlucky fallen, a victim of unfortunate circumstance, a necessary sacrifice for their lives on the ground. They would not remember his fierceness, his loyalty, his love, his desperate attempts to save everyone. They would not remember what he’d done for them, or how much he’d changed their lives with what he’d risked. He would fade away, the years dimming him in her memory, like it would for everyone else.

Raven finds her after, limps up to where she kneels in the dirt.

“You’re not going to leave again, are you?” she asks quietly. Clarke considers this, considers the people she still has left, whose presences will only serve to highlight Bellamy’s absence. Whose presences will remind her of what she lost, of what she could have had. Who will all be grieving for him too.

“No. Not this time. Not again. We need each other.” Her voice is hoarse from holding back tears for so long, and her heart clenches as she says the words. She needs her friends, but not as much as she needs him.

Raven nods and places a comforting hand on her thigh.

“We’ll be okay.” She says. “All of us. We’ll get through this.” Clarke turns to look at her and she sees the tear tracks on her cheeks, is sharply reminded of the fact that Bellamy was so important to so, so many people. And now it was up to her to pick up his mantle, to bear his role as well as her own.

“Raven,” Clarke blurts, her emotions welling up inside of her, needing release but without the words to articulate the true depth of her despair. “I love him.” She manages, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t encompass her emotions for him. It’s a meagre and shallow way to express the fullness of her loss.

Raven’s arms slide around her shoulders.

“I know.” She says gently, and presses a kiss to her temple. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees. But her words sound flat to her own ears, and it occurs to her that she’s not home yet, not really. Home has never been this settlement. When she thinks of home, she does not think of metal edges, steel piping and airlocked doors; she thinks of warm brown eyes, smirking lips, a beating heart full to brim of rage and love and passion, hands capable of both killing and saving.

She blinks against the prickle behind her eyes. She wonders if she’ll feel this homeless forever.


End file.
